Chapter 7 - THE RECORDING
Denise stood amidst the shattered glass, gripping the tire iron so tightly her knuckles were white. Her catering uniform was rumpled, and she looked absolutely terrified, but she didn't back down.
Victor spun around, shocked by the sudden intrusion, his gun wavering away from Lily.
“You,” Victor sneered, recognizing the supervisor he had bullied for months. “You stupid woman. You just signed your own death warrant.”
“You threatened my kids, Victor,” Denise screamed, her voice breaking with maternal fury. “You don't ever threaten my kids.”
Victor raised the gun toward Denise.
Ethan didn't hesitate. With a primal roar, he threw his entire upper body weight out of his wheelchair. He didn't have the use of his legs, but his arms were built from years of relying on them. He lunged like a coiled spring, crashing into Victor’s knees just as the gun went off.
The suppressed bullet shattered a mahogany bookshelf, raining splinters over Oliver, who shrieked and covered his ears.
Victor collapsed backward, his head cracking hard against the edge of the heavy oak desk. The gun skittered across the Persian rug.
Lily dove for it. She scrambled across the floor, grabbing the cold metal of the pistol. She rolled over, aiming it with shaking hands directly at Victor’s chest as he tried to push himself up.
“Don't move!” Lily screamed, her finger resting dangerously on the trigger. “I swear to God, I will shoot you!”
Victor froze, looking at the fierce determination in the young woman’s eyes. He slowly raised his hands.
Ethan pulled himself up, using the edge of the desk to haul his body back into his overturned wheelchair. He was bruised and panting, but a triumphant fire burned in his grey eyes.
Denise rushed forward, pulling a roll of heavy packing tape from her pocket. Within two minutes, they had Victor bound tightly to a heavy wooden chair, a gag stuffed in his mouth.
“How did you get past the gate guards?” Lily asked, hugging Denise tightly, tears of adrenaline stinging her eyes.
“I drove the catering van,” Denise panted. “I told them Marcus ordered a last-minute champagne delivery for the estate. They didn't even check the back. But Lily, it’s worse than we thought.”
Answer One, Open Two. Denise reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I couldn't sleep last night. I remembered something. During the event prep, I had my phone recording a voice memo for the inventory list. I left it on the catering table when Victor came over to yell at a contractor.”
Denise hit play.
Victor’s recorded voice echoed in the study, chillingly clear. "I don't care if the foundation struts are cracked. Marcus said to paint over the rust. The terminal only has to hold together long enough for the FBI Director to sign the federal grant. If it falls into the harbor tomorrow night, we’ll already have the four billion offshore."
Lily’s blood turned to ice.
The terminal wasn't just built with cheap materials. The foundation was already cracked. And Marcus was putting hundreds of people on a glass platform suspended over the harbor right now.
“What time is it?” Ethan demanded.
“Seven-forty,” Lily said, looking at the grandfather clock.
“The ribbon-cutting is at eight. We have twenty minutes to cross the city.” Ethan grabbed the tablet and the gun. “Load my chair into the van. We have to go.”
They raced out the broken window, loading Ethan and Oliver into the back of Denise’s battered catering minivan. Denise slammed the gas pedal, tearing out of the estate and rocketing toward downtown Baltimore.
They arrived at the HarborLine Terminal at 7:55 PM.
The venue was completely transformed. Floodlights illuminated the massive glass platform extending over the black water. Hundreds of VIPs in tuxedos and evening gowns were drinking champagne. A string quartet played softly over the sound of the lapping waves.
Lily, Ethan, and Denise pushed through the security barricades, flashing Denise’s catering badges.
They reached the edge of the crowd just in time to see Marcus Whitmore stepping up to a microphone on the very edge of the glass podium. Standing right beside him was the Director of the FBI, holding a gold-plated pair of oversized ceremonial scissors.
“We made it,” Ethan breathed.
“Wait,” Lily said, her eyes widening in horror as she looked at the glass floor beneath Marcus’s feet.
A terrifying, deep groan echoed from the steel pylons beneath the water. It was the exact sound Lily had heard yesterday, but a hundred times louder.
A massive, spiderweb crack ripped across the glass platform, shooting directly through the center of the crowd.
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“Get back!” Lily screamed at the top of her lungs.
But she was too late.
